


Ain't No Rest

by jacksgreysays (jacksgreyson), jacksgreyson



Category: Descendants (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Future Fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-11-22 05:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11373807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgreyson/pseuds/jacksgreysays, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgreyson/pseuds/jacksgreyson
Summary: There are two things capable of taking down the barrier around the Isle of the Lost:One of them is the Fairy Godmother’s Wand, the artifact that originally created the barrier.The other is a teenaged genius without magic, desperate to save his friends’ lives.(originally posted on tumblr)





	1. Part One

Here is a secret about magic: when it does get passed on, it is always stronger in the next generation. Some of that has to do with compounding knowledge–usually, parents and teachers will share with their children–and the fact that magical objects absorb ambient energy over time. But neither of those apply to the Isle of the Lost.

Why would villains pass on their knowledge or artifacts, when both have been made useless? On a barren island, surrounded by an impenetrable barrier, the greatest witches and sorcerer of the age found that they were unable to use their powers. They accepted their new, mundane way of life with ill humor, but they did accept it.

Never again would they raze kingdoms with a mere blink of their eye. Never again would they hold the fragile lives of royalty in their hands. Never again would they break the laws of nature and humanity just to prove they could. They were trapped on a rock where no magic could happen, and from which no one could escape.

But… neither of those are true; not exactly, not completely.

—

Carlos is fourteen and they are sixteen when their lives change. Not necessarily for the better.

It’s subtle at first, starting with Jay, the oldest of the four. He’s been stealing for over a decade, hardly ever gets caught, but in the rare occasions he does? He can always use flirtation or fear to get out of trouble. But his powers of persuasion have been improving, to the point where Lady Tremaine even let him take her emerald ring directly off her finger.

“I’m just that suave,” he’ll say, rattled but unsure why and unwilling to show it. The rest of them suspect it had more to do with the temporary, unnatural glow in Jay’s eyes than any charisma, but they let the matter go.

Later it begins happening to Evie; small, near-unnoticeable things. She knows where to find the best food, the best fabrics, the best spare parts–but she’s always been pretty good at that. Once, she decides to take a different route than the usual and happens to avoid falling pieces of rubble–surely its just coincidence. It develops further: she knows the answers to questions she shouldn’t, to questions that have yet to be asked.

Then one day, out of the blue, she says, “There’s a book of spells inside the freezer.” They look at her, surprised, and she, too, looks shocked at herself. It’s not worrying until she adds, “We’ll need it.”

And they do end up needing it, sooner rather than later: the next day Mal is startled and somehow turns her own hair green. The four of them manage to steal the spell book and she easily reverses the color change on her very first try; all without their parents knowing.

Thus, the crux of the matter: their parents not knowing. There is a tense moment where they all stand and stare at each other, knuckles pale, breathing shallow, nervous and uncertain. Carlos looks away first, this is not his decision, but Mal is the one to close her eyes next. She’s always wanted to impress her mother, and surely being able to perform magic on the Isle would finally do it. But they don’t know what will happen, don’t know how their parents will react. They decide to keep it a secret.

They manage to do so for five years; at which point they then find out their parents’ reactions. Unsurprisingly, it’s nothing good.

There are two things capable of taking down the barrier around the Isle of the Lost. One of them is the Fairy Godmother’s Wand, the artifact that originally created the barrier. The other? The other is a teenaged genius without magic, desperate to save his friends’ lives.


	2. Part Two

The Barrier Observatory in Charmington reports a system down emergency at least once a month. Magic is outlawed because it’s something that villains can abuse, true, but it’s also just highly incompatible with technology–even technology meant specifically to monitor magic tends to go on the fritz. So it’s not too surprising when the system designed to keep an eye on the barrier around the Isle of the Lost sends false alarms to the Auradon police department.

This is something that Lonnie, as the newest member of the dispatch unit, gets the honor of dealing with. Her fifth time handling a BO red alert happens at two in the morning, which isn’t as bad as it sounds–she’s always been a bit of a night owl. However this particular time, when she calls the observatory for the all clear, instead of a sheepish and embarrassed Jane on the other end, she gets a frazzled and panicked Jane.

“It’s not just the sensors this time!” Jane says, voice high and wavering, “It’s not a glitch!”

The shock of it stuns Lonnie for a beat before her training kicks in and she responds calmly, “Are you and the rest of the Observatory staff in any physical danger?”

In her peripheral vision she sees the dispatcher in the desk beside her turn, eavesdropping and as surprised by half the conversation as Lonnie is by all of it.

“N-no,” Jane stammers, fear lingering, before she pulls herself together, “We’ve had our technicians go over everything. The sensors are all in working order, and there’s nothing wrong with the program either. Our readings show that the barrier really was down.”

“It was down?” Lonnie repeats, and now she can spot more of her coworkers in the corner of her eyes as her call continues, “Is it still down?”

There’s a moment of silence, in which Lonnie can feel her heart begin to speed up, before Jane answers, “No, the barrier is back up now,” but then she adds, hesitant and worried, “At least–if our readings really are correct–”

“Okay, stay calm. For now we’ll assume that the readings are correct and the barrier is up,” Lonnie interrupts, to cut off that line of thought. It’s as much for her own sake as it is for her fellow dispatchers crowding around her and Jane on the other end. “We’ll send a couple of uniforms over now to confirm it’s not someone pulling their idea of a terrible prank,” Lonnie waves a hand at her neighbor, prompting him to begin calling the Charmington precinct, “And we’ll have a Knight head over in the morning to investigate further. Does that sound good?”

Jane sighs–in fully earned relief, no doubt, but it just creates a burst of static-filled noise in Lonnie’s headset–before asking, “Can I stay on the line until the officers get here?”

“Of course, let me transfer you to the dispatcher in contact with the local police. He’ll keep you updated on their location until they arrive at the observatory.”

“Thanks, Lonnie,” Jane says.

“It’ll be okay, Jane,” Lonnie says back, before rerouting the call to her fellow dispatcher. She takes a moment to breathe deeply, rubbing a hand over her face, somehow exhausted even though she only started working a few hours ago.

The shift supervisor is standing behind Lonnie when she turns, and she does her best not to startle too much.

“Well done, new kid,” he says, which Lonnie knows to be enthusiastic praise coming from him. Bill Packard is a crotchety, old man in the body of a thirty year old; more cynicism than serenity, but still damn good at his job. If there were such a thing as dispatcher nobility, he would be king; his grandmother, Wilhelmina Packard, was the radio operator during the fabled Atlantis expedition.

That compliment puts a little bit of positivity in what is looking to be a terrible night.

“Better call up the Knights,” he says, before returning to his desk, “See which sad s.o.b. is going to be leading the charge on this one.”

—

The Knights of Auradon are an elite agency designed to keep the peace. They are trained to handle any and every situation, are expected to maintain peak levels of fitness, and look quite dashing in their dress uniforms.

Which, really, is what most of their duties consist of now. With over two decades of all the major villains, the minor villains, and even some of the more despicable minions being imprisoned on an island, there really hasn’t been much in the way of crime. Nothing that requires the Knights’ high standard of skillsets at least.

Instead, Knights are mainly used for security at major political events, particularly diplomatic ones with foreign ambassadors who can admire the glittering guards and ask, “Are you really trained in such and such?” or “Is it true that Knights can do…” or, in Ben’s case, “It must have been such a surprise when the President’s son decided to be a Knight.” As if they weren’t speaking directly to said President’s son, as if he were just a statue they could speak at.

They’re not difficult assignments, but they are tedious. So it’s not surprising when, after only two hours of sleep following one such event, Ben wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing and heaves a reluctant, weary sigh into the pillow. He nonetheless reaches out for it, squinting blearily at the bright screen in his struggle to answer it.

“Hello, this is Ben,” he slurs, attentive but unable to put the effort into sounding so. Seriously, two hours of sleep, they’re lucky he even bothered to answer.

“This is Lonnie,” he hears from the other end, “Sorry Ben, you’re the Knight scheduled for on call duty,” she says apologetically.

He muffles a groan into his pillow, the arm not holding the phone to his face flailing out in agitation, before he composes himself, “What is it this time? High schoolers with alcohol crossing county lines?” he guesses from past experience, “Illegal night boating?”

“It’s the Barrier Observatory,” Lonnie says, seriously enough that Ben drags himself up and out of bed, “They’ve reported an actual red alert. Only a temporary system down but still, it’s correct as far as they can tell. We’ve already sent local police from the Charmington precinct to check things out, make sure it’s not some asshole messing around. But if it’s serious…” she trails off, almost afraid, as if saying it aloud will make the worst case scenario true.

“Yeah, I get you,” Ben says, struggling to put on his work uniform which, while less intricate than the dress uniform, is still difficult to do one handed. Frustrated, he sticks his phone between his ear and his shoulder, only to teeter sideways into the wall with a resounding thud.

“Ben?”

“I’m okay,” he mostly yawns, “I’ll be at HQ in twenty minutes. Fifteen if I speed.”

“You’re supposed to uphold the law,” Lonnie admonishes, but at least she doesn’t sound scared anymore.

“Ten minutes, you say? That sounds terribly dangerous, Lonnie,” Ben says, affecting a scandalized tone of voice. Or as much of one as he can with his shirt still up over his head.

It elicits a laugh from Lonnie who ends the call with an amused, “Be good. Dispatch is always watching.”

Unhindered by his phone, Ben manages to dress himself without a problem and leave his apartment within a few minutes. At this time of night, there’s hardly anyone out on the streets, but he does not get to HQ within fifteen minutes. Not even in twenty.

En route, Ben gets another call from Lonnie. Tonight is apparently the night for alarms, because he gets redirected to the museum. If he hurries, maybe he can catch the intruders.

An hour later, Ben is sitting on the other side of an interview table from a stubbornly silent, unidentified young man who refuses cooperate in any manner. He wonders to himself if it would have been more or less frustrating had he caught all of the intruders instead of just the one.


	3. Part Three

Carlos is smart.

He’s really fucking smart, okay. He is probably the only person in the entire world who can outsmart magic.

But Carlos is also scared. And it’s because he’s so smart that he’s scared.

Because ingenuity isn’t the same as prescience or telepathy or even strategic thinking. He can take down the barrier, sure, but that doesn’t mean he knows what to do afterwards. Or how to deal with the consequences.

Luckily, he’s not alone–he has his gang, his family–they’re the entire reason why he took down the barrier in the first place. Over the years, his friends’ powers have only grown stronger: Evie’s predictions becoming more accurate, more certainties that probabilities. On those occasions when she’s unsure, people’s intentions switching mid-action or just not existing, well, that’s where Jay can pick up the slack. And Mal’s tactical prowess, while not magical, has always been impressive. As they grew, so too did their abilities–magic and not.

Unfortunately, while strength has always been held in high esteem on the Isle, for four kids trying to keep a secret, it was their downfall.

No, not kids, they’ve grown up. Adults. Carlos knows that their age shouldn’t have mattered, but it’s still something that hangs over them. A heavy what if; wondering if youth would have protected them. If it would have fulfilled one of the conditions to their parents’ tenuous, contingent love.

Because instead of seeing their children, Maleficent, Grimhilde, and Jafar had only seen rivals. Worse, rivals with a secret, rivals with magic.

Which left the the gang two options: fight or run. The truth of the matter is, they probably would have won, but not without killing; and for all that their parents’ love is conditional, theirs is not.

And so Carlos took down the barrier–only for a short window of time–and they fled.

The thing about having two options is that, really, it’s three options. The third option being to do both. Yes, they flee the Isle, not wanting to kill their parents despite them having no qualms about doing the same. But that doesn’t mean they won’t go back and fight.

The just need to pick up a few things first, so it doesn’t turn into parenticide. Things in Auradon. Things held in varying levels of security in Auradon. Things like, say, a certain genie lamp, a particular glass coffin, a specific bell jar, and the only magic wand worth the term.

~

Here is something Evie does not know yet. Her gift has not shown it to her, because it is not relevant. Not yet. It will be.

When Carlos took down the barrier, it wasn’t four people who left the Isle. It was ten.


	4. Part Four

Ben likes to think he’s a patient person–except, no, that’s a lie, he knows he’s easily excitable and tends to rush ahead with only minimal thoughts to the consequences–but he’s pretty sure anyone on as little sleep as he got, with as much shitty coffee as he’s drunk, would be impatient too after an hour of being stonewalled by the one of the perpetrators of probably the only interesting case to happen in Auradon in years.

Decades.

Any other day, this would be the kind of thing Ben would be grateful for, a break in monotony from the usual Knight’s duties. Just figures this would happen when Ben’s not at his best.

He’s fidgety–Ben, that is–and if it didn’t seem to at least sort of unnerve the suspect he’d feel weird about acting so vulnerable in front of a stranger, much less a criminal. But as it is, just because the guy isn’t saying anything doesn’t mean he’s not giving them information.

The guy has been verbally uncooperative, but he was pliant enough when it came to booking. Obediently standing and turning for pictures, even if he had a pout the entire time, and letting himself be fingerprinted. Not that that helped at all; no match in the system. Even now there are still smudges of ink on his fingertips, the blackened lines and whorls standing out darkly against pink skin. Ben let’s go of his paper coffee cup, the fourth of the night, to slide his own hands across to where the suspect’s are resting against the table.

The perp doesn’t quite flinch away from the movement, but it startles Ben out of that course of action before he makes contact.

Whoa, Ben thinks, shaking his head, I am really tired. He clears his throat, hands going back to his coffee cup, the liquid inside lukewarm and sludgy, but at least it gives him something to do. Something like not touching the prisoner which is very clearly against the rules of conduct inside an interrogation room.

The camera in the corner of the ceiling has been constantly recording, steady red light like a judgmental eye. He hopes Lonnie doesn’t bring that up.

A knock on the door jolts both of them, but the perp does not look away from Ben, and Ben finds it hard to look away too, even despite the heaviness of his eyelids, but then the door opens and one of the precinct’s uniforms calls out, “Uh, sir?” Even though Ben is clearly younger than the police officer. But that’s what he gets for being a Knight, so Ben turns.

“Yeah?” Ben says, voice low and scratchy, before he clears his throat again and tries again, “Yes, what is it?”

“Lab results for the DNA test are back,” the uniform says, holding out a folder but not stepping inside.

Ben tries not to let the irritation or the skepticism show on his face. The former because that means Ben has to heave himself out of this surprisingly comfortable chair just to walk three steps over to get the folder. The latter because it’s not like the prisoner looks all that intimidating–he’s probably a few years younger than Ben, several inches shorter, and a good twenty pounds lighter–what could be so scary about that?

“Let’s see it then,” he mutters, flipping open the folder and paging through the information. Like his fingerprints, there’s no exact match for the perp in the system, but there is a partial match.

Ben can feel his eyebrows raise in surprise as he looks between the lab results and the perpetrator still sitting silently at the table, a smirk slowly edging onto his face as he realizes what it is that Ben must have just found out.

Partial DNA match found–their prisoner is related to Cruella de Vil.


	5. Part Five

Carlos is trying his best to stay strong or, if not that, then at least silent–trying to mimic his friends’ confidence in the face of a stream of strangers and bureacracy–but it’s been growing steadily more difficult as time passes. Especially with the Knight just… sitting in front of him.

It’s not like Carlos is going to snitch, but the fact that the guy’s not even trying to get him to talk is weird. The guy is weird. But maybe that’s just what people from Auradon are like.

Carlos startles when a knock on the door interrupts their lack of a conversation, but he keeps staring at the Knight. It’s not eavesdropping if they’re talking right there in front of him, and anyway, it’s about him so Carlos has a right to listen.

He was never one for stoicism, and so when he sees the Knight find out who he is–who is mother is–Carlos bares his teeth.

Carlos is put into a holding cell after the big reveal, so they can figure out what to do with him in relative peace. He knows he’s not the most physically intimidating, but no doubt the mere idea of an islander escaping their precious barrier is something that scares the shit out of Auradon. He’s a manifestation of their nightmares–born and raised by one of their bogeymen.

And so he smirks, and sits, and waits.

—

He is shocked awake with a splash of cold water. He jerks and splutters, hearing the sounds of sneers and laughter, before he blinks the water from his eyes.

Two of the officers–not Knights from what he can tell of the uniforms–stand outside his cell. A bucket noticeably hanging empty from one of their hands.

Carlos does not break his silence, though he does internally curse that the fear of his heritage has already worn off.

“Told you,” One of them says, the one with the bucket, “He’s not much to look at.”

“Caught on your first heist? Not as smart as mommy dearest?” The other sneers, though Carlos does catch the way the phrase stumbles as it passes the officer’s tongue; as if it’s curdling in his mouth as he speaks. The possibility of Cruella de Vil hearing anyone mock her, at least, a twisting trepidation.

With her reputation, it’s not so far off base. She had been a terror to the authorities in her prime. A suspect for dozens of heists–though never officially proven until that last one. Each of them had been ruthlessly successful, planned perfectly, outwitting her opposition at every turn. She didn’t care about collateral damage caused to bystanders and the police sent after her. In fact, the one task force formed in an attempt to stop her received a present of an incendiary nature. Needless to say, Cruella de Vil is a name to be feared.

There’s a damned song about it.

But he’s not his mother… even if everything is going to plan.

He bites that back, though. He doesn’t like these two assholes thinking that the heist was anything less than successful but he stays silent. And anyway, Carlos being incarcerated is part of the plan; a secret part of the plan.

So he just smiles–the way Mal would in the face of any weakness, the way Jay does after an unnoticed pick pocket, the way Evie smiles at an unsuspecting victim–all sharp edges and barely concealed danger.

He’s not Cruella de Vil, no, but he’s an islander outside the barrier. And he’s not the only one.

“You little shit,” the uniform spits out, dropping his bucket with a clang and reaching for the keys to Carlos’ cell.

A little worried, Carlos sits up, but he doesn’t move away, doesn’t want to be the one to back down first. The door of his cell doesn’t creak open–the hinges well oiled, no rust in Auradon, not like the Isle–but the clatter of the bucket was enough to gather some attention, because before the officer can actually enter the cell the Knight from before calls out.

“What are you doing?” He says, a harsh reprimand, going so far as to bodily shove the officer away. The other officer disappears quickly, though from the way the Knight’s eyes flick to a ceiling camera, he won’t be able to hide.

Carlos doesn’t quite sigh in relief, but his muscles relax.

“I was just–” the officer starts feebly, trying to weasel his way out.

“You were just about to harass a prisoner,” the Knight says, then looks at the bucket and Carlos’ still wet hair, “To continue to harass a prisoner,” he amends.

“He’s from the Isle! He’s a fucking de Vil!” he shouts, twisting around the Knight in another effort to get to Carlos’ cell door, only to be shoved back again. Harder, until he smacks against the opposite wall.

“He’s as much protected by the laws as anyone else in Auradon,” the Knight says coolly, and at some unseen signal, several other Knights–probably called in while Carlos was sleeping–drag the officer away.

One of them hands a folded towel over to Carlos’ Knight–the first one, that is–before saying something, too soft for him to overhear, glancing at the ceiling camera, and leaving.

Then, it’s just like the interrogation room, just Carlos and the Knight.

He opens the cell door, but doesn’t step in. And for that, Carlos feels a rush of gratitude–one that grows when the Knight wedges the towel between the bars instead of trying to hand it over.

Carlos walks over and reaches for it gingerly, pulling away quickly, then beginning to pat himself dry.

“Technically,” the Knight begins, “the only crime we can prove you committed is trespassing. There’s no evidence of any breaking and entering or theft. So, you’re free to go,” the Knight says with a shrug, and he steps away.

Carlos stares, confused. This isn’t going how Evie said it would. Go where? He doesn’t ask.

But maybe something about his expression asks for him because the Knight continues, “As part of a law enforcement agency, I can’t tell you what to do or where to go from here,” and with another shrug, an almost casual movement if it weren’t for the fact that it turns his face away from the camera, “But as a private citizen I can tell you that I’ve got a pretty decent guest room in my apartment. And since my shift is over, I’ll be going home now.”

Then the Knight smiles, friendly, honest; nothing at all like what Carlos has been doing.

“I’m Ben,” he says, extending his hand out.

You’ll be safe with him, Evie had said, and Carlos trusts her even if he doesn’t trust this Knight.

Carefully, because he’s only ever seen it done on TV, Carlos shakes his hand.

“I’m Carlos.”


	6. Part Six

“I hate this,” Jay says, quietly but forcefully. It feels wrong to be missing one of their gang, to have deliberately left behind one of their gang. Especially Carlos.

“He’ll be safe there,” Evie insists, though she reaches out and grips at Jay’s vest. She doesn’t like it either, having Carlos somewhere else, out of arm’s reach.

Mal lets them have that moment–she’s worried about Carlos, too, the way an alpha would be about one of her pack, not the same as the other two do–before saying, “It’s for the best,” concluding the matter. No more bringing it up, if they don’t focus on the goal then leaving Carlos behind will have been for naught.

Evie purses her lips and Jay’s expression twists into a scowl, but they fall into line obediently. Mal doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but she doesn’t gentle her tone. They’re all a little on edge considering what they’re running from, and for all the the least of Auradon is still better than that on the Isle, hiding out in a cramped, seedy motel room is less than what they would prefer.

Mal’s already done a cleaning spell on the room–twice–but she’s still hesitant to use the bed. Evie had nearly shrieked when she opened the door to the bathroom.

“Lamp first,” Jay decides, not out of any personal desire but out of experience–in comparison to the other items, the lamp is the easiest. Currently held in the Agrabah embassy, the theft of the lamp would have to be handled within house–the Agrabah embassy doesn’t have to and wouldn’t report the theft to Auradon authorities. The lamp is easy to transport without being magically connected to a particular person and, beyond historical value, it doesn’t have much importance over all. Stealing it would only be a scare for the embassy security, retrieval of the lamp would be a very low priority.

“We’ll need to do some recon in person,” Evie says, fingering the edges of her magic mirror which is currently displaying the blueprints of the embassy, “They have a ward of some kind that prevents me from looking inside the building, though as soon as someone steps outside I can get information on them. I should be able to give you a full roster on the staff within a few days.”

“And any big events that are being held at the embassy–galas, press conferences, whatever,” Mal adds, drawing out a larger copy of the blueprints on several sheets of paper, to better map out the heist.

“Like a ball?” Evie asks, voice soft and wondering–not completely over that childhood dream.

“More people means more potential witnesses,” Jay warns, doesn’t quite argue, “And the security increases.”

“But it also means a built in distraction and a greater cover–with so many people, even if the theft is discovered there are too many witnesses,” Mal contradicts, “It was just an idea,” she concedes, “since we don’t know what security is actually like, it may be better to do it some other way. We’ll keep our options open.”


	7. Part Seven

Ben has no idea what the hell he is doing. Stopping a prisoner from getting harassed, sure, okay. Offering his own home as a place to stay? What.

“What am I doing?” Ben exhales, hands tightening their grip around the steering wheel. It’s six in the morning, the sun peaking over the horizon, and the roads are beginning to fill with other cars–early commuters, or morning deliveries and the like.

Carlos, who got a few hours of sleep in the holding cell, is nonetheless dozing in the passenger seat, head lolled back against the window. With his hair drying out into fluffy tufts, he doesn’t look like a threat to Ben who, even running on fumes, is a highly trained Knight.

Then again, it wasn’t Cruella de Vil’s physical prowess which made her so fearsome.

It’s very possible that Ben might die today.

“Fuck it, I’m too tired.”

Ben pulls in to his assigned parking spot, thankfully not stolen by anyone–though, really, who would that early in the morning. He hesitates for a few moments, unsure exactly how to wake up his passenger, before reminding himself that he is in fact a fully trained Knight and probably has several inches and several pounds worth of muscle on Carlos. There’s nothing to be worried about.

As it is, when Ben gently nudges his shoulder, Carlos’ reflexive flailing does manage to smack Ben in the eye. He ends up banging his own head into the window, though, so the two of them spend the next couple of minutes moaning in pain.

“Ow, okay, well. We’re here,” Ben says, inanely, rubbing gently at his eye. Oh god, he’s so tired.

Carlos says nothing in response, but follows Ben to his apartment easily enough, yawning all the way.

Ben’s apartment is on the third floor which, normally, means an invigorating walk up the stairs but at the moment is a gruesome climb that has both he and Carlos dragging their feet, nearly misstepping, and tripping on multiple occasions.

“Welcome to my apartment,” Ben says around a yawn, scrounging for the dregs of manners buried deep beneath the heavy weariness. Carlos, too, looks just as ready to go back to sleep.

Until Ben opens the door, that is; at which point Carlos screams and throws himself backwards until he hits the wall of the hallway with a loud bang.

Alert now, Ben scans his apartments for threats, sees nothing, looks again for anything even remotely scary, and only sees his apartment. Kind of messy, but not too bad.

Oh, and Dude who, being so small kind of just… walked below Ben’s line of sight to leave the apartment and sniff in interest at Carlos. Carlos who appears to be scrabbling at the walls in an attempt to climb out of reach.

Confused, but strangely, a little charmed, Ben reaches out to lift Dude up and away. “It’s just Dude. He won’t hurt you. He’s my dog,” It might be more accurate to say, he was a stray dog that wandered the campus of Ben’s high school until Ben decided to just take him home after graduation.

Carlos does not look at all reassured.

“Have you… not seen a dog before?”

“There aren’t any on the Isle. Mom says–” Carlos starts, only to cut himself off with a shuttered expression. Probably deciding it’s for the best not to bring up his mother, cop killer, around someone who works in law enforcement.

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve been told. But this particular dog is friendly. He’s just curious. Here, do you want to pet him? He likes it when you scratch behind his ears.” Ben says, carefully stepping closer so Carlos can reach easily.

It seems to work, Dude licks playfully at Carlos arm and the boy smiles back. Ben can feel the brief rush of alertness fade away, back to the persistent sleepiness.

“Okay, let’s get you settled inside, so all three of us can hopefully get some rest,” he says, about to lower Dude to the ground but deciding instead to hold him out to Carlos. Tentatively, Carlos reaches out, and Dude transfers easily between them.

Dude stays in Carlos arms the entirety of the quick tour–guest bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room–and when Ben retreats to his room, no more self-appointed obligations in sight, he sees Carlos set Dude gently into his doggy bed in the living room, only for the dog to hop back out and follow Carlos to the guest bedroom.

Well, they do say dogs are a good judge of character.


	8. Part Eight

Carlos wakes up to a persistent ringing noise, a small furry face huffing dog breath right into his nose, and in a bed that definitely isn’t his. He’s not sure which problem to fix first–isn’t sure if he should even bother to fix anything. He’s on the edge between sleep and wakefulness and it’d be pretty easy to slip back down into sleep.

Except for that damn ringing noise.

Carlos groans, alerting Dude to his conscious state, and he has to move his head away from Dude’s well-intended but currently unappreciated doggy kisses. Might as well stick his head underneath the pillow to muffle the noise as well.

Prey having escaped, Dude jumps down off the bed and out the slightly ajar door. The doorbell, for that’s what the ringing must have been–though the doorbell at Hell Hall sounded different than that–stops, too, leaving Carlos in peace.

For about three seconds.

Because then Dude starts barking and growling, and then there’s the Knight’s voice saying something, and someone else’s voice–a woman’s–shouting back and nope. No way is Carlos going to be able to sleep through this.

Quietly–not that he would be heard over the ruckus happening outside his room–he tiptoes out of bed, straightening the sleeping clothes Ben loaned him as best he could. Without the tough leather of his jacket, or his steel-enforced boots, he feels soft. He feels vulnerable with his gang so far away–they’ve never been so separate before, even before they became a gang, the Isle is so small.

But Evie said he would be safe with the Knight, with Ben. He smooths his hands over the soft, plain shirt, before stepping closer to the bedroom door.

The voices become more distinct–actual words instead of just noise–and eavesdropping is a perfectly legitimate form of information gathering.

The woman’s voice curls around Dude’s continuous barking and growling, “–can’t believe you still have this mutt. This whole kind to animals phase was acceptable in high school, maybe, but we’re adults now, Benny–”

“Dude isn’t a phase!” Ben interrupts, almost a growl of his own, “And how did you even get in?”

“You gave me a key, Benny-boo, don’t you remember?” The woman says, high, lilting, like she owns the place.

Carlos can feel his muscles tense, preparing to flee. It reminds him of their mothers, back on the Isle, how everything they wanted was so easily taken.

“That was when we were still dating, Audrey, I asked for my spare key back.”

“And I gave it back,” the woman, Audrey, responds coyly, “After I made a copy, of course…” And maybe that was meant to be flirtatious, the pause in conversation implying some kind of seductive motion that Carlos can’t see, but instead:

“Will you shut that mongrel up!” She shouts, clearly irritated by how unromantic a barking dog can make a situation.

For some reason, it almost makes Carlos smile, even though he peeks out the door in concern for Dude. He knows what it’s like to be on the wrong side of that kind of irritation. Knows what it’s like to be on the wrong side of that phrase, actually.

The apartment size and layout being what it is makes guest bedroom door visible to the rest of the apartment. Extremely so.

So despite how quiet Carlos is in comparison to their argument, his movement is still very obvious. Three pairs of eyes catch on him and immediately Carlos regrets his actions.

To be honest, Audrey doesn’t look like much of a threat; she doesn’t look real–all pastels and perfectly put together–it’s entirely different from the world Carlos is used to on the Isle. Where grays and browns are the default, and colors are bright and loud and poisonous.

But Dude runs towards Carlos, wheeling around and standing guard, hackles raised and growling in her direction. Even Ben, from his spot further away, takes a few steps closer.

“Carlos–”

But Audrey is already near, and Dude not much of a deterrent. She turns towards Carlos, and smiles.

“Carlos, is it?” She asks, and there’s something in her hand, something she’s pointing in his direction. “Benny didn’t tell me he had a guest over.”

“Damn it, Audrey, I said no comment!”

But Audrey ignores him, focussed entirely on Carlos, “How about an interview?” She asks, recorder already on, “An escapee from the Isle of the Lost? My ratings will go through the roof!”


	9. Part Nine

Coming up with a plan to do reconnaissance of the embassy is easy. Actually executing it, however…

“I don’t do uniforms,” Jay gripes, arms crossed, head pointedly turned away from the plastic garment bag laid out on the bed. Inside is an authentic Agrabah embassy guard uniform.

“You do today,” Mal shoots back in a matching stance. Despite the height and muscle mass difference, the two of them are equally unyielding.

“At least it doesn’t have sleeves,” Evie offers, trailing her fingers down the fabric. It’s so strange to see cloth so new–as opposed to scrounging together pieces from the trash. And the uniform is clean, too, they stole it directly from laundromat.

“Why can’t you or Evie go?” Jay argues, but it’s a weak attempt, and Mal goes for the opening.

“That’s not going to fit either of us,” she scoffs–because it’s true. While there are female guards in the embassy, the uniform they stole is distinctly for someone much taller and broader than either of the girls. “And anyway,” she says with a smirk, “out of the three of us, you’re the self-proclaimed master thief.”

Jay groans.

Evie holds up a hair tie and the cloth for the uniform’s turban, “Need help with your hair?”

—

The Agrabah embassy is, in a word, palatial. Considering Auradon is a conglomerate of multiple kingdoms–many of the castles still meticulously maintained–it’s not surprising that the Agrabah architects would want to build something equally impressive and grand.

Beautiful, yes. Easy to navigate? Hell no.

So far, Jay hasn’t had his cover blown, mostly because he really does fill out the uniform nicely and so long as he marches around stoically, no one will stop him. It also means he can’t say anything to anyone, but he is learning an awful lot anyway. Such as:

The ambassador’s birthday is next week, there will be a party at the embassy to celebrate.

The sultana herself is coming. Unsurprising since, after all, the ambassador is the sultana’s husband.

The groundskeeper is in despair because last year there had been elephants involved.

There’s rumors that some sort of important announcement regarding Prince Amir will also be made at the party. Maybe an engagement? Maybe succession to the throne?

Jay rolls his eyes, because now the chatter is just getting further from useful, and he’s yet to hear anything about the lamp. He continues on.

There are a few doors that are already manned by guards, so Jay figures it’s in one of those rooms. One, he knows, is the ambassador’s office, so Jay doesn’t bother with that, but the other three could be some kind of treasury, maybe.

Well, there’s one way to find out.

“Our shift isn’t over yet,” one of the actual guards grunts, when Jay makes a move for the door.

Rather than get apologetic, Jay shrugs and says, “Yeah, okay. But are you sure you’re even guarding the right place?”

The other guard stares blankly at him, while the first makes a grab for the door. Because, first of all, making people confused and doubt themselves is just as hilarious as Mal always said it was. And, second of all, getting someone else to open a lock for you is half the fun of stealing.

But, apparently, third of all, Jay was right.

“He’s not here!” The first guard says, and the second startles in alarm.

“What do you mean? We’ve been standing here the entire time!”

The shout draws attention from other staff and personnel, more guards included, so Jay takes this as his cue to back away slowly. They were guarding a “he” anyway, so it’s not what Jay’s looking for.

As Jay walks away, he hears a shout–

“Prince Amir is missing!”


	10. Part Ten

All of this is very surreal, Ben thinks, as he carefully pokes at the scrambled eggs in the frying pan in front of him. Him, in pajamas, standing in his kitchen cooking a very late breakfast. His ex-girlfriend, perfectly dressed, sitting poised in one of the tall chairs for his dining table across from his current houseguest. An escapee from the Isle of the Lost.

“The season that you took over was my favorite, really,” Carlos says candidly, before smearing a thick layer of jam on his toast and shoving half of it into his mouth.

An escapee from the Isle of the Lost who is somehow better at media runaround than Ben–even though he’s been trained on this since childhood and again as part of Knight lessons.

“I’m not surprised, that season was the most popular even in other countries. A fresh face does wonders for a dying series. Although, I didn’t know you got reception on the Isle,” Audrey preens, delicately sipping at her no-pulp orange juice and leaving a pink lip stain on her glass.

Beneath the table, Dude has settled into a reluctant silence, his Audrey-induced growling abated mostly by Carlos’ gentle and rhythmic foot nudging.

Bemused, Ben turns back to the frying pan.

“We don’t. Well, not really. It’s more like we don’t have TVs on the Isle to receive signal. But I’m pretty good with machines,” Carlos says through a mouthful of food.

In disgust, Audrey looks away, “I suppose you don’t have manners on the Isle, either?” Half-heartedly she adds, “Is that why you left?”

Even Ben knows how much of a reach that was, and he figures the eggs are as good as they’re going to get. He turns off the heat, scrapes them onto two plates, and sits himself at the table as well. One plate goes in front of him, the other in front of Carlos.

“You sure you don’t want any, Audrey?” he asks, mostly sarcastic.

“As if,” She scoffs, “If I remember your cooking correctly, those eggs are probably somehow runny, rubbery, and burnt all at the same time.”

And… well… she’s not wrong. Ben pushes around the mess on his plate.

“They taste okay to me,” Carlos volunteers, after trying a bite. It must not be a lie because he keeps eating them, but Ben can’t help but mirror Audrey’s skeptical expression.

“Really?” Audrey asks, no longer a reporter but a person honestly mystified.

“They smell okay, so it’s already a lot better than the eggs on the Isle,” Carlos says with a shrug.

“Okay as in what?” this time, Ben asks.

“Okay as in not rotten,” Carlos clarifies, “Eggs are kind of a luxury on the Isle–non-spoiled ones, anyway–they are a good source of protein and all that. But they aren’t all that high a priority during barge runs, even if we’ve been getting first pick. And it’s rare to actually find a non-broken, non-spoiled egg so…” he shrugs again, though his shoulders don’t quite come back down after, and focuses on his breakfast.

Ben and Audrey look at him, then at each other, ill at ease. Of course rubbery, burnt eggs would taste okay in comparison to rotting food. Having no TVs is one thing. But not having edible food? Barge runs?

What–

“What was life on the Isle like?” Audrey breathes out, horrified, somehow thumbing guiltily at the condensation beading along her glass of orange juice.

Carlos glances towards Ben for something like reassurance, then faces Audrey, “Is this still off the record?”

Audrey hesitates, and for that second Ben earnestly shoots her a glare, but she rallies herself. All of her emotions–her shock, her pettiness, her concern–tucked away behind pure professionalism. “Do you want it to be?”

Carlos answers.


	11. Part Eleven

While the staff panics over the missing prince, Jay dashes across an emptied courtyard to the other side of the embassy. There are two more possibilities to inspect and, as he hoped, the guards for those doors have joined the commotion. He’s going to take advantage of this distraction while he can.

The good news is, his first choice is a room with a very promising looking vault.

The bad news? Apparently someone else had the same idea.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Jay asks, trying to sound authoritative instead of like an impostor. Considering his true identity, well, he’s depending more on the fact that it worked once already.

The other figure, definitely not a guard from his clothes or lean frame, startles away from the vault door.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Jay adds, only about seventy percent sure of that.

“Ah, yes, well… you see… I was just…” the guy stammers and Jay is actually kind of embarrassed for him. If there were rules for being a thief, one of them would definitely be not to get flustered if caught. Of course, one of the rules before that one would be not to get caught in the first place.

“Uh huh,” Jay says, expression and tone blatantly disbelieving.

The would-be thief sighs and sort of slumps, running a hand through his short hair, “I thought I’d have more time. It seemed like everyone was headed to my room  so I thought I’d be able to crack this before then.”

… This is ridiculous.

“Prince Amir,” Jay says flatly, and said prince reacts with a sheepish wince.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to keep this a secret from my father?” Amir asks, and Jay can hardly hold back his laughter. No way is he going anywhere near the ambassador.

“That depends,” Jay replies, an idea forming in his head.

“On what?” the prince says back.

“On how far along you got.” After all, getting someone else to open a lock for you is half the fun of stealing.


End file.
